I'm riding a train of thought on a track to nowhere. Our top story concerns a number of public sculptures in New Orleans. Apparently they epitomize concepts of quantum physics, in which all matter is motion. Their world is like a Tempest, stormy enough to send hundreds of metal books flying through the air in a rainbow of color. In other words, nothing is solid. Not unlike Bernardo Solano's play Dominion, a true-to-life L.A. horror story in which a journalist seeks the truth behind a neighborhood racial conflict. The Rashomon-like conclusion? Truth is slippery. And I agree. It's as elusive and wispy as a fly-fishing lure; it's so outdated someone should place it in a museum alongside ancient, clunky computers. Speaking of which, a group of Benedictine monks in a New Mexico monastery have become overnight sensations thanks to their Vatican Web Site. If they weren't sworn to avoid physical thrills, they'd probably dance for joy. Not unlike these New Orleans Mardi Gras Indians, who really know how to move. Their exhibit, by the way, is a costume lover's delight. Unless you only ever wear boxer shorts, you'll love it. And if you do only wear boxers, try this article about, sorry, Mike Tyson. While we're on the subject of biting off more than you can chew, an exhibit of respected art critic Lucy L. Lippard's collection contains well over 200 objets d'art. Now if you'll excuse me, my train has derailed.